


no soft light (to enchant me)

by Aeremaee



Series: The Old Guard Stories [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Baking, Domestic, M/M, POV Outsider, Pets, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeremaee/pseuds/Aeremaee
Summary: It's spring when the new neighbours move in.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Old Guard Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084115
Comments: 18
Kudos: 310
Collections: The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020





	no soft light (to enchant me)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, first and foremost, to Thidwick, for choosing my story, for making it something better than it was before, and for creating the most beautifully gorgeous art that fits the feel of the story I wanted to tell so, so well.  
> [Thidwick's instagram is here](https://www.instagram.com/thidwickdoodles), please, please go shower her with praise! 
> 
> Thank you to the Old Guard Events Mods for organising this Bang and giving me a reason to actually finish a story this year.
> 
> And thank you, for choosing this story <3

It’s spring when the new neighbours move in.

Barbara is unloading pastry boxes from her trunk when she sees the van pull up to the next house over. For a moment she has no idea what’s going on. The house has been empty for a few years, a cleaning and gardening service once a month the only sign that someone still owns it. Mr Peters had told her that whoever had lived there had moved overseas for work but had expected to come back, but when pressed he’d confessed he had also been told this by someone else, and no one had lived there for ten years, at least. The men who come outside to meet the movers seem much too young to be the original owners, though, only early to mid-thirties, maybe.

She brings her boxes in. When she comes out again to get the second load, the new neighbours are helping the movers bring in a sofa. She can’t help but rubberneck a little as she walks back to the house, but then she’s unloaded everything and has no more excuse to watch. Instead she goes straight to the kitchen to do what she does best.

She pulls the ingredients from the shelves with sure hands and sets to work. She separates the eggs and sets the whites to be whipped up while she measures out the rest. She folds the yolks into the whites, then the sugar and the flour, and pours the batter out onto a baking sheet. The oven beeps and she slides the tray in and hunches down to watch the sponge rise. When it’s cooked she turns it over on the workbench, slathers the surface with apricot jam and rolls it up in one smooth slide. She puts the roll on a paper tray and glances at the clock. It’s not been twenty minutes; they definitely won’t be done yet. She makes tea and waits.

When she finally hears the truck’s engine turn over, she grabs the tray and rushes out. She almost forgets to grab her keys. It takes a lot of effort to not just run right over.

The house is detached from hers and set a little farther back from the sidewalk, so there is a front yard that could be quite cute if it had anything to it except for the grass lawn it currently is. Maybe now that someone actually lives here? She rings the bell and fidgets.

The man who comes to open the door is the one with the curls she spotted earlier, and his smile lights up his whole face.

“Hi!” she blurts out, flustered by how warm and safe that smile makes her feel, “I’m Barbara, I live to your left. I made you something!” And she thrusts the platter out a bit awkwardly.

He gracefully takes it out of her hands and probably saves it from ending up on the ground. “Hello, Barbara, I’m Joe. Thank you so much!” He half turns and calls, “Nicky, come here a second.”

The guy with the longer hair comes into the hallway behind Joe, and from here Barbara can see he has a beautiful nose and loops in both ears.

“Barbara, this is Nicky, my husband,” Joe says, looking at him with such a soft look that she immediately assumes that title is probably a recent development. It’s lovely.

“Hi, Nicky,” she says, pointing her thumb at her house, “I’m right next door if you guys need anything.”

“Nice to meet you, Barbara,” Nicky says, “thank you for welcoming us to the neighbourhood.”

“It’s pretty quiet, but nice to live in,” she says, “there’s a few great little places around, too, and the park down the road is very nice.”

“We’ll have to make sure we go exploring,” Nicky says warmly.

Joe definitely sounds like he’s from north of the border, but she can’t place Nicky’s accent. Maybe they moved somewhere in the middle between both of their homes.

“Let me know if I can help with anything, ok?” she says. “I won’t keep you, enjoy the cake and your evening!” She flutters a wave and steps back.

“Thanks again, we will,” Joe smiles.

“A good evening to you, too,” Nicky adds.

They wait just a minute to close their door until she’s opened hers.

The next time she sees them, they’re having brunch at The Corner, their neighbourhood’s café. She’s helping Isabelle arrange the baked goods she just delivered when she catches their eye. She gives them a wave and a smile, not wanting to intrude, but they wave her over right away.

“I thought this tasted familiar,” Nicky tells her, pointing at the remaining half of a piece of jam roll still on the étagère Isabelle uses to serve brunch.

“I’m impressed!” she smiles.

“My Nicky has impeccable taste,” Joe says with a wink, “but also he had about three quarters of the roll you dropped off for us, so he’s had time to appreciate the taste.”

“I had half, at most!” Nicky protests.

“And then half of my half,” Joe teases.

“I’m really glad you liked it,” Barbara beams.

They make her sit down and buy her tea and one of her own pastries. Isabelle shamelessly enables them.

“Are you settling in ok?” she asks between bites. “Do you like the house?”

They’ve finished their brunch and are sharing a pot of tea between the two of them, some kind of spicy blend with lots of milk in it. Joe keeps topping up Nicky’s cup while Nicky talks about their kitchen with his hands. The gardens apparently do need a lot of work, but the house itself is to their liking. They get her to talk about her work a little, baking for the café and for things like birthday parties and baby showers, which she loves a lot more than the part time job as a doctor’s receptionist she also has. They talk about the neighbourhood and about family, and then the pot is empty and Barbara takes her leave to help Isabelle clean up. Joe and Nicky follow her to the counter to pay and thank Isabelle for the food. They kiss both of them on both cheeks and leave with a wave, hand in hand. Barbara smiles over at Isabelle, who is blushing as much as she herself must be.

It’s a beautiful Saturday—the weather is finally catching on to the fact that it’s supposed to be summer any day now—and Barbara is doing some weeding in the raised beds that frame her little patio when she hears Joe and Nicky on the other side of the tall wooden fence that separates their back gardens. She’s heard them out there before, they seem to like having dinner outside whenever they can, but what’s significant is that they usually speak a foreign language amongst themselves, but not this time.

“Come here,” Nicky is saying, “it’s okay.”

“I’m just going to…” Joe says, and after a distracted reply from Nicky, she hears her own name.

“Barbara? Are you outside?” Joe calls.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she calls back, and right away the fence creaks as Joe apparently climbs halfway up to stick his head over it.

“There’s a kitten in our yard, come see! We’re trying to catch it!” he says. She immediately drops everything.

“I have my grandma’s cat things in the attic,” she says, “I’ll bring everything right over!”

Ten minutes later sees her ringing their bell and Joe lets her right in.

“I brought the carrier, and food and water bowls and the litterbox, just in case,” she says, breathless with excitement. “You can put newspaper in for now.”

“Lets try and catch the thing first,” Joe laughs, and he leads her through the house. The walls and furniture are creamy white and light grey woods, with pops of colour all over to warm up the space. The effect is incredibly cosy. There are plants everywhere, and the kitchen is just incredible.

“Your house is so lovely!” she says when they walk out into the garden.

“Thank you,” Nicky says, head in a bush, “ _almost_ … Got it! Joe, get the towel!”

Joe rushes in with a fluffy towel as Nicky drags the wailing kitten out of the bush with one hand almost completely enveloping the tiny creature and together they get it bundled up so they can have a look without it attempting to claw them to death. Barbara leans over them and makes cooing noises.

“Is it just the one kitten?” she asks.

“Yes,” Nicky says. “Maybe its mother abandoned it because it is ill?”

“Or it escaped and got lost,” Joe says, in the tone of someone who already knows he has a new kitten now but is not ready to accept the inevitable just yet. “We should take it to a vet and see if it has a chip.”

“But no one will be available, it’s the weekend,” Nicky tries, eyes glued to the kitten’s face. Clearly he’s accepted his fate quite readily.

“There’s an on-call service for vets, you can call the number and they’ll tell you where to go in the region,” Barbara points out. They both give her a slightly desperate look, though for different reasons.

“Does this really count as an emergency, though?” Nicky says.

“Oh, it does,” Joe says, putting his foot down. “It could have fleas, or parasites, or ticks.”

“Or feline HIV or something else nasty,” Barbara adds. “Chip or no chip, I think a vet visit is definitely in order.” She holds out the carrier. “In it goes, towel and all.”

“I’ll go look up the number and call,” Joe says, and disappears into the house. Nicky holds on to the kitten, rocking it gently while he and Barbara make soothing sounds at it, until Joe comes back out and tells them they have an appointment in an hour at a veterinarian half an hour’s drive away.

“Do you want a lift?” Barbara asks.

Joe eyes her with suspicion and she gives him her most innocent face. He’s onto the fact that she will one hundred percent help convince him to keep it if it turns out the kitten has no chip, and he doesn’t need that much convincing, anyway.

“No, that’s alright,” he says. “Thanks for bringing the stuff over, though.”

“We will keep you posted,” Nicky says. “If you give me your number I will text you updates.”

“Oh, and pictures!” she says.

Joe rolls his eyes but numbers get exchanged and Barbara does receive updates every five minutes or so, first from the car, then the vet’s office, and finally from a pet shop in the neighbourhood, where Nicky is apparently determined to purchase the entire inventory. Joe’s face is occasionally visible in the background, suffering in silent but readily apparent resignation.

A few hours later she gets another picture. The kitten, cleaned up, pronounced healthy, found previously unchipped, and spoiled rotten all in the span of a few hours, is now asleep on Joe’s chest.

The caption reads _Her name is Minù_.

Isabelle has given herself a rare two weeks off, so they’ve gone to the weekly market together to buy bags of candy, waffles, and fresh fruit. There is powdered sugar in Isabelle’s long hair and on Barbara’s collar, and they are having the best time.

A familiar laugh draws them around the corner. Joe is there, boxed in by three women. He’s talking animatedly and waving a hand in Nicky’s direction, who is selecting fruits and vegetables with unassailable concentration.

“So nice to see young people coming to the markets,” Mrs Peters is saying, “it’s just us oldies too often.”

“The young people have to go to work,” Mrs Jacobs points out, which Barbara recognises for the trap it is immediately.

“What do _you_ do?” Mrs Lambert asks innocently. “Having a day off?”

Joe laughs again. “Oh, my dear Mrs Lambert,” he says conspiratorially, “I am a kept man.” They gasp and giggle, just a tiny bit scandalised by his choice of words.

“It’s so nice that more men are homemakers now, too!” Mrs Peters says, rallying valiantly. “All I can get my husband to do is wheel out the trash bins.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Joe replies, “clearly he doesn’t appreciate how lucky he is.”

Mrs Peters blushes scarlet and Barbara has to clasp a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Isabelle smacks her on the arm but she’s grinning like a loon, too.

“Then what does your husband do?” Mrs Jacobs asked, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Something with computers,” Joe says. “To be honest with you I have no idea. He works from home and talks my ear off about it; and it makes sense in the moment, but it goes in one ear and out the other. I’m much too busy watching him pace and wave his hands around,” he winks, and the ladies all titter.

“Bet you anything he knows exactly what it is Nicky does,” Isabelle mutters. “As if Joe wouldn’t pay rapturous attention to every word that fell from his lips.” Barbara has to cover her mouth again.

“Am I wrong?” Isabelle insists.

“You are definitely not wrong”, she replies. “Want to go say hi or should we not risk it?”

“We better go and save him,” Isabelle says magnanimously, and they walk up to the market stall, right next to Nicky.

“The gossips have your husband,” Barbara says in a stage whisper.

Nicky looks at them and then at Joe over his shoulder, and smiles fondly.

“He’s having a ball,” he assures them. “The charm is irresistible.”

“You would know,” Isabelle teases.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Nicky laughs. “Are you here to buy fruit? The cherries are beautiful.”

Five minutes later sees them walking back over to Joe alongside Nicky, with a bag full of cherries that he bought them each. Barbara has never felt so spoiled in her life. He’s showing Isabelle every picture he has of darling Minù, and she is oohing and aahing as if Barbara has not already shown her all of them as soon as she got them from Nicky. The kitten is growing like a weed and Nicky is a very proud dad, but Joe, he tells them, is truly devoted to their furry charge.

“He takes her on tour through the house on his shoulders so she can sniff all of the things on the shelves she is not allowed to climb and the plants she is not allowed to eat,” he says, and Barbara has to bite the inside of her cheek, hard, to stop herself from making an embarrassing noise.

“I do no such thing,” Joe sniffs, but no one believes him. Nicky has photographic evidence, after all. Barbara has a copy on her phone for safekeeping.

At the end of August the neighbourhood has its yearly barbeque. It’s good fun and good food, catered by the local butcher shop, and Barbara eats too much and talks even more, short chats with the people of her street, a few regulars from Isabelle’s café and a few people she really only knows from seeing them in the grocery store or in the park. She hands out business cards and praises Isabelle’s coffee brewing skills to whoever hasn’t been to the café yet, and overall it’s exhausting but great. Joe wins the tombola’s big prize, a giant basket full of local products, and he dips Nicky for a victory kiss that has the whole tent cheering and whooping with laughter.

As the evening goes on, she finds herself sharing a table with them, along with Mrs Filips. It’s the strangest thing, but they get each other going and it feels like she’s not sitting with an elderly woman and two young men, but instead listening to three people talk about their similar life experiences through the decades. She eats cake and drinks pop and takes it all in, nodding and humming encouragingly. Mrs Filips lost her husband only a few years ago and it’s clearly doing her much good to talk about him; anecdotes from their life together, stories about the years and years they spent side by side, about being a child during the war and growing up in a whole new world. Nicky tells stories about the same things, heard from aunts and uncles and parents and grandparents, while Joe seems very good at drawing out the most beautiful memories she has to share about the man she loved so much and then lost.

“I’m glad, in a way,” she tells them, throat tight enough that Barbara reaches out to put a hand on hers as Joe does the same, “that he went first. I miss him so much every day, sometimes more than I think I will be able to handle. But then I think about how he would have got on if it were me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he was useless around the house. He knew how to cook and clean and do laundry. He would have survived. Fed himself, clothed himself. But that’s not enough, is it? You have to find something to live for in the absence of the thing you have lived for. You have to do more than just hang around and wait for it to be your turn. I don’t think he could have done that. Maybe that means I didn’t love him as much.”

“It means you loved him enough to do this for him,” Nicky tells her. “You are finding a way to taste life while he no longer can, so you can tell him all about it when you reunite.”

“I’d like that,” she says, eyes a little glassy and voice quavering. Barbara pushes a glass of water into her hands and she takes a careful sip.

Joe and Nicky lean back into their seats, giving her a little space. They regard her, and then each other, and Barbara doesn’t know what to think about the look they are sharing. There is something in that look that seems much too big for a balmy summer night at a neighbourhood barbeque.

“Me first,” Joe finally says, tired and soft at the same time.

“Yeah,” Nicky says, oceans of love in his eyes and voice. “You first.”

Autumn arrives and Barbara gets so ill that her boss sends her home with five different meds to take and strict orders to stay inside for at least a few days. She’s so miserable that she sloughs home without thinking about it, but a few hours and a nap later she realises she has a problem.

 _Can I ask a huge favour?_ she sends Nicky. _Could you guys pick up groceries for a few days for me? I’m really sick and Isabelle is out of town and I kinda don’t want to ask my mom to drive an hour both ways._

 _Of course_ , comes the reply. _Any allergies or dislikes?_

 _No stinky cheese :)_ , she sends. _Thank you so much!_

 _Think nothing of it_ , he replies, _see you soon._

The doorbell rings an hour later and she drags herself off the couch to open the door. She expects Nicky to just drop off a few bags, but instead he’s brought Joe and what seems like enough supplies to feed a small army.

“Oh, honey, you do look miserable,” Joe says, “let’s get you lying down.”

He guides her back to the couch and props her up with every pillow in the place and piles all the fleece blankets she keeps in a wicker basket by the heater on top of her. It makes her feel like a child again.

Nicky, in the meantime, has gone straight through to the kitchen and is clattering around the cupboards. Barbara spends a moment being grateful that whatever else, her kitchen at least is always spotless.

“You just sit right there and let us take care of things,” Joe says.

“Ok,” she says, only a little embarrassed, “thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” he says, and disappears into the kitchen.

She hears the kettle turn on and what sounds like someone chopping something at expert speed. One of them turns the radio on, some easy listening station, and their voices fill her house. It’s Italian, she knows now, and she listens to them talk and bicker and flirt, lets the noise carry her off to a doze. She rouses just a little when Joe brings her a mug of tea, linden with lemon juice and lots of honey, just the right temperature. Warm and cosy smells fill the space; tomatoes, slow cooking meat, all sorts of spices, bubbling yeast. She is reminded of when her grandmother used to cook for the whole family when she was little, breathes all of her stress right out, and falls asleep.

She wakes up hours later to fresh bread on her kitchen counter and enough soups, stews and pasta sauces in her fridge and freezer to feed her until she is well again, and more than a few days after.

They left her a note, too.

_The quickest way to get better is to have someone there to take care of you. Please promise to let us know if you need anything else. Sleep lots, get well soon! J &N_

She eats a bowl of chervil and pea soup with a slice of fresh bread, resolves to bake them a very big cake, and goes right back to sleep.

Every December, the city organises a winter market to benefit a charity. Isabelle and Barbara share a stall that sells coffee, hot chocolate, glühwein and a few different cupcakes, and it’s going great. They’re trying not to sample their own goods too much, but it’s difficult amidst all the twinkling lights and happy faces.

Joe and Nicky stop by, laden with bags containing all sorts of things gift-wrapped in colourful foil and glitter.

“Looks like you guys managed to get quite the haul!” Isabelle says.

“Lots of family to shop for?” Barbara asks.

Nicky gets a sad look for a second. “Not much family left,” Joe says, voice a touch melancholy. Then he brandishes his bags before setting them all down. “Lots of found family and life-long friends, though!” he says. “We may have been a little overenthusiastic.”

“That’s what the holidays are for,” Isabelle assures him. “Can I get you anything?”

Nicky puts his bags down too and they crowd around the counter. Joe has hot chocolate and a double chocolate cupcake, while his husband opts for a coffee and a cranberry-pear cupcake with cream cheese frosting. Barbara and Isabelle help themselves to a half each of a vanilla-raspberry one, with some extra whipped cream on the side to dip their next bite into.

There’s a shout from the side and people start yelling in alarm. Nicky is off like a shot, empty coffee cup tumbling to the pavement.

“ _Nicolò!_ ” Joe bellows, puts his food down, and rushes after him.

Barbara makes it out of the stall just in time to see it happen without being able to do anything at all about it.

The car is swerving wildly, like something happened to the driver, and jumps the curb to smash into one of the stalls, only there is a bench in between the street and the stall, and a small child was sat there, entirely focused on telling their doll a story.

Nicky makes a grab for them.

Barbara would swear she hears the wet crunch of bone, even though there is no way she could hear that over the screaming of metal and wood.

She starts running, though she doesn’t know why. Around her, people are calling the police and the ambulance. She hears Joe screaming for Nicky. She scrambles forward, trying to remember any of the first aid stuff her boss has taught her, anything at all of the CPR classes she’s taken.

“Nicky!” she screams.

“Over here!” Joe yells back.

He’s got them, both of them, wrapped in a tight embrace, only a metre from where the car is accordioned into the stall. Somehow, impossibly, Nicky managed to save the child and himself. His jeans are torn, from sliding over the pavement when he threw himself out of the way, maybe, and he’s lost a shoe, but nothing is bleeding or broken or crushed.

“He threw her out of the way,” she hears a bystander tell his mate, “but I would have sworn the car got him.”

“Christmas miracle,” the mate replies dubiously.

Barbara wobbles and her legs give out. She sits down right where she stood. There are sirens in the distance and someone is yelling that the driver is still alive. The people in the stall also made it out in time. Tears streak down her face and she watches Joe cradle Nicky who’s cradling the child, who’s wailing and wailing, which is probably a good sign. She can’t understand what Nicky keeps saying to Joe, but she thinks she’s probably got the gist of it.

The child’s parents come rushing in, and Isabelle, and they’re all alright, too. Isabelle wipes the tears off Barbara’s face and hugs her tight. Barbara clings back and thinks that she would quite like to sleep for a week now.

It’s spring when the new neighbours move out.

 _Do you have time to drop by for a drink sometime this evening or tomorrow?_ Nicky sends her. _We need to ask you for a favour, if that’s alright._

 _Of course_ , she replies. _I can be there in an hour, if that’s alright?_

 _Perfect_ , comes the reply, with a photo of Minù asleep on her giant scratching post attached.

An hour later she rings their bell, and Nicky opens with a smile and leads her inside. The place looks much the same, though there are signs of a feline roommate everywhere. Joe is already pouring tea and there’s a whole assortment of sweets and tiny cakes set out.

“What’s the occasion?” she smiles, and notices them fidget just a little bit. “Everything alright?”

“We’re moving away,” Joe sighs.

“Work takes us all over the world,” Nicky says, “and it’s taking us away from here again, for now, at least.”

“Oh,” she says, a bit crestfallen. “Will you be gone long?”

“At least a few years, seems like,” Joe says.

“Oh,” she says again, and tries not to droop too much. “It’s been very lovely to have you as neighbours.”

“We’ve been very happy here this year,” Nicky says. “But we’re used to going where the wind blows us, and we’ll be much closer to our family again.”

Barbara remembers the stacks of presents they’d bought. “That must be a very nice thing to look forward to,” she smiles.

“It really is,” he smiles back.

Minù decides to come see what is going on and pops up from behind the sofa. She walks over the back to bump her little head into Nicky’s shoulder and then Joe’s hand.

“Which brings us to what we want to ask you,” Joe says, picking the cat up and kissing her between the ears.

“We can’t bring Minù with us,” Nicky says, regret heavy in his voice and posture. “And we were wondering if you would like to adopt her.”

“Oh,” she says again, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Ten seconds long she can’t think, but she doesn’t really have to think about it. Her phone is overflowing with Minù’s photo’s, she’s helped them decide which brand of food would be best, she’s bought her toys and treats and dangled a fishing rod over the garden fence when Joe or Nicky let her out on her lead.

“Of course I’ll take her,” she says. “We’ll have a great time. She can stay as long as you need, until you can come get her or until you guys come back, because you’ll always be her dads.”

Joe has to clear his throat loudly and pour himself more tea.

“She’ll be very happy with you,” Nicky says, “and we’ll be happy knowing that she’ll be the most spoiled kitten in the world.”

“That’s what aunts are for,” she says, and tries to smile, but it’s a little watery.

Over the next few weeks she helps them pack up and decide what they’re going to put in storage and what will be donated. They’re not selling the house and Barbara tells herself that means that they won’t be gone too long, surely. The cleaning services get rehired, and the gardener too, with strict orders about how to care for all the new shrubs and trees they’ve planted throughout the year. Minù comes over to Barbara’s house more and more to get used to the new environment. Joe and Nicky tell her about their plans to go see the sights around the Black Sea before settling in at what will be their new home. They don’t tell her where exactly they’re going. She assumes Nicky’s job probably actually comes with a security clearance, though why that led them to this quiet neighbourhood will have to remain a mystery. She tries to tell herself she’s an extra in an action movie, but it doesn’t really cheer her up. Nicky gifts her all his baking supplies, and Joe gifts her all of the plants, with very thorough instructions on what care they need, which is for the best, because she’s never not killed a plant in her life—she’ll have to make sure not to, this time. She promises to send them tons of pictures.

They drive out of her life the way they drove into it, followed by a moving van. She holds Minù in her arms and waves goodbye until she can’t see them anymore and goes back inside, to her plant-filled kitchen, and bakes a jam roll while Minù lounges on her giant cat tree. She sends Nicky a picture, but doesn’t receive a reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](aeremaee.tumblr.com).


End file.
